


The Science of Death

by Historical_Fangirl



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: 1890s, Bittersweet Ending, Death, Forensics, Friendship, Gen, Major Illness, Minor Character Death, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Past, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-Canon, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Historical_Fangirl/pseuds/Historical_Fangirl
Summary: Henry Morgan might have decided to become a Medical Examiner in the 1950s, but his interest in forensics was piqued long before then.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> This is the first story I've written for this fandom, so I apologize if Henry seems out of character, or if anything appears to be factually inaccurate (I've seen all of the show's episodes, but only once). I've tried my best to fit this story in with what happens in the show, so I hope that I've been successful.

_ New York City _

_ April 1895 _

Doctor Henry Morgan smiled to himself as he strolled down the tree-lined avenue early one morning. He had moved to New York from London a few years ago now, but he still had yet to tire of beautiful spring mornings like this one. They reminded him to slow down and relax for a moment, a rare thing in his life.

As he continued down the street, watching the city wake up around him, a shout came from somewhere behind him. “Excuse me! Sir!”

Henry stopped short and turned around, his forehead creased in a frown as he caught sight of a rather rumpled looking police officer hurrying towards him.

“Yes? May I help you, Officer?” he asked once the other man was within earshot.

The policeman nodded breathlessly. “You Doctor Henry Morgan?”

“That is my name,” Henry affirmed.

“Did you treat a woman by the name of Ann Powell a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes…” This line of inquiry was confusing Henry more and more with every passing minute. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“She’s dead, sir,” the police officer revealed. “‘Least, they think it’s her. A woman matching her description was found dead earlier this morning. She’s at Bellevue now. Don’t got any family to speak of, so they need you to come and identify the body.”

Henry swallowed hard, feeling as though his perfect morning was suddenly crashing down around him. “Alright. Lead the way, Officer…”

“Meyer.” The policeman held out his hand for Henry to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Morgan.”

“Likewise.” Henry tried to smile. “Shall we?”

~

Henry had been to Bellevue hospital a few times before and had always found its lack of cleanliness and blatant disregard for patient health appalling. He had never been to the morgue, however, and his stomach flipped ever so slightly as he and Officer Meyer stepped through its doors and were greeted with the smell of death and decay. Henry had seen plenty of death in his long life, but this place still made him feel sick.

“Miss Cross?” Officer Meyer called out into the large room, surprising Henry. He’d never met a woman who frequented morgues in her spare time before.

“Over here!” A voice called back, and the two men followed it around a corner. They were greeted with the sight of a young woman bent over a body holding a scalpel. She wore a large rubber apron over her blouse and skirt, and her light brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She glanced up at them briefly, then returned to what she had been doing. “Thank you, Officer. I’ll show Doctor Morgan to the body when I’m done here.”

Officer Meyer needed no excuse to make a quick exit. He merely nodded and tipped his hat to both of them, and then he was gone.

Henry stood next to the table where Miss Cross was working for a few minutes, feeling awkward. She seemed authoritative, and the police officer had known her by name, so he gathered that she worked there. That was about all he could discern at the moment, however, with her being focused so intently on her work.

“Here!” Henry jumped at the woman’s sudden exclamation. She was holding a sliver of what appeared to be wood between her fingers and was grinning as broadly as a child on Christmas morning.

He cleared his throat. “May I ask what you find so exciting, Miss Cross?”   
  


She held up her prize once more, not seeming to care that both it and her hands were covered with blood. “Evidence, Doctor Morgan.” Without waiting for his reply, she set her tools and supposed “evidence” down on the table next to the corpse, wiped her hands off on a nearby cloth, then shook Henry’s hand. “Bridget Cross. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Doctor Henry Morgan. A pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Cross,” Henry replied.

“Our Jane Doe is over here,” Bridget said, leading Henry over to a dimly lit corner of the room where a body lay on a table under a sheet. She pulled it back for Henry to see, and his heart sank when he saw it was indeed his former patient. He nodded, and Bridget covered her back up. “You didn’t know her well, I take it? She had no family.”

“She came to my office a few weeks ago with a broken wrist,” Henry explained. “That was the first time I’d ever seen her. She seemed nice enough.”

“A broken wrist? How interesting…” Bridget’s voice was soft and she trailed off at the end, almost as if she’d been thinking out loud.

“Is it?”

Bridget looked up at Henry, her gaze searching. Finally, she nodded, and Henry had a feeling he’d just passed some unspoken test. “The police are saying she jumped from the top of a building on 11th street.”

Henry tilted his head at her choice of words and tone. “You disagree?”

Bridget nodded, uncovering Ann Powell’s body again. “They found her lying facedown on the pavement, which explains some of these.” She indicated the bruises which mottled Ann’s face. “But they’re just superficial. If she had landed on her face, she’d look much worse. Broken nose and jaw, at the very least.”

Henry leaned over the body to examine it more closely, his curiosity getting the better of his initial hesitance. “Are you saying she was moved after she died?”

“Precisely. And then there’s this.” As she spoke, Bridget tilted Ann’s head up, and Henry saw that it was almost completely smashed in. “Her spine’s broken, too. So she clearly landed on her back, but was discovered on her face.”

“Perhaps thieves tampered with the body?” Henry suggested.

“Well, not very good ones if that’s the case. She still had five dollars in her pocket,” Bridget said. “More likely, she was pushed off the top of the roof by someone, and that same person tried to make it look like a suicide.”

“How awful,” Henry murmured, still studying Ann’s body. He’d never admitted it, but ever since he’d examined Mary Kelly’s body almost ten years ago he’d been more interested than ever in the clues that could be gained by observing a dead body.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was whoever broke her wrist,” Bridget continued, and Henry looked up at her again.

“How do you know someone broke it? It could easily have been an accident.”

“That’s true,” Bridget conceded. “But she’s well-dressed, and clearly not hurting for money. That means she couldn’t have sustained it while working a job. And you’d never seen her before, so that means she didn’t go to her usual doctor to get it fixed. Why would she do that, unless…”

“She didn’t want anyone to know about it,” Henry finished.

“Precisely, Doctor Morgan.” Bridget looked him up and down approvingly. “You’re catching on quickly.”

Henry blushed slightly and looked down at his feet. “It’s just… interesting. If that doesn’t sound too heartless.”

Bridget shook her head. “No. It doesn’t.” She turned away from Henry and picked up a small notebook, jotting something down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have two other autopsies to perform before my shift ends and I doubt you’d like to stay and observe those.”

Choosing to ignore the truth that he would, indeed, like to stay, if only to speak with her more, Henry elected to say, “No, thank you. I’ll be on my way.” He tipped his hat cordially, then retraced his steps out of the building to the street. It was now flooded with bright sunlight, causing him to squint after the darkness of the morgue. Brushing off his clothes, he checked his watch and, realizing he was late for an appointment, hurried off towards the building which housed his office, his mind still lingering on Bridget Cross and Ann Powell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this story so far, having feedback on my writing means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

Several weeks after first meeting her, Henry saw Bridget on the street near his office. Acting on impulse, he dashed across the street to try and catch her. “Miss Cross!”

Bridget turned when she heard her name being called, her concerned expression smoothing out when she saw Henry. “Doctor Morgan!”

Henry smiled as he caught up to her, panting slightly after his sudden sprint. “Hello again. I saw you from across the street and thought I’d… say hello.”

Bridget nodded in understanding. “It’s nice to see you again, Doctor. How have you been since we last spoke?”   
  


“Fine, fine,” Henry said. “And you?”

“I’ve been fine as well,” Bridget said. The silence stretched between them, and just as Henry was thinking that he should excuse himself from the conversation, Bridget smiled at him. “Doctor Morgan, would you like to look at a dead body with me?”

~

“He was shot in the leg, but the real cause of his death is the stab wound in his chest,” Henry said. “It went right through his ribcage, to his heart.”

“Excellent observation.” Bridget nodded her approval as she and Henry studied the body lying on the table in front of them. “The knife almost certainly ruptured one of the coronary arteries. I’ll know for sure when I cut him open.”

As she said this, Bridget reached for a knife from the table beside her. Henry watched her cut the man open with a scientific interest, forgetting the gruesome scene in front of him in his desire to solve the mystery of how the man died.

“You’re rather quiet and observant, Doctor Morgan,” Bridget remarked as she worked. “Different from most of the doctors I’ve encountered before.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t try and prove that you know more than me, or speak patronizingly. The other doctors I’ve met all do and some have even raised serious objections at the idea of a woman working here.”

Henry considered this. “Well, in this particular instance you know more about this sort of thing than I do. It seems only natural that I would defer to you.”

Bridget snorted as if he’d said something highly amusing. “You are a strange man, Doctor Morgan.” She looked up at him. “But I am a strange woman, so I suppose we get along.”

Henry chuckled at her blunt statement. “If I may ask a personal question, Miss Cross?”   
  


“Yes?”

“How does a young woman end up working in a place like this?”

“Medical school isn’t free, as I’m sure you’re well aware  _ Doctor _ Morgan,” Bridget replied. “My parents made it clear to me that if I wish to be a doctor, I’ll have to foot the bill myself.”

Henry frowned. “I’m sorry.”

Bridget shook her head. “Don’t be. Strange as it might sound, I like it here. I can learn all I need through observation and common sense.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a very fine doctor one day, Miss Cross,” Henry said.

“Thank you,” Bridget smiled at him. “And you may call me Bridget, Doctor Morgan. We are dissecting a body together, after all. That tends to produce some level of familiarity.”   
  


Henry fully laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Then you may call me Henry, Bridget.”

~

Henry and Bridget began to work on cases together regularly. Bridget would invite Henry to assist her with autopsies, and Henry would take Bridget along with him on his calls so that she could get some practical experience. They were fast friends, and Henry soon began to feel the type of protectiveness over Bridget that he imagined an older brother felt for a younger sister.

“I shouldn’t have brought you along. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Henry.” Bridget sounded exasperated, an understandable feeling since this was the third time they’d had this conversation in the past hour. “It’s fine.”

“But he spent the whole time… staring. At you. Inappropriately. And it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t brought you.” Henry was referring to the patient he and Bridget had just paid a call to, an old man with wandering eyes.

“If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. It’s not your job to protect me, Henry. I can take care of myself,” Bridget said. Her tone was firm, leaving no room for anymore argument.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with things like that, Bridget. It’s not right.” Henry knew he sounded like a parrot, repeating the same refrain over and over again, but he still felt guilty at his part in the whole awkward debacle.

Bridget sighed. “No, it isn’t. But until we live in a very different world than this one, that is the way it is. And I would prefer to deal with it in my way.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.” Henry was still hesitant to let this go.

“I’m sure.” Bridget smiled at Henry then, silently declaring a truce as they arrived back at Bellevue. “See you tomorrow? 8 o’clock?”

Henry smiled back. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this chapter in comparison with the first one, but hopefully the next chapter will be a little longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief warning for this chapter, there is a slightly graphic description of an injury as well as a (temporary) character death. If that bothers anyone, I would recommend skipping this chapter.

_ June 1897 _

Time didn’t move for Henry in the same way it moved for everyone else. After all he had experienced and lived through, a year felt even shorter to him. It seemed he had scarcely met Bridget than it was two years later, and she had just graduated from medical school.

“I can’t believe it. I’m finished! Done! Finally!” Bridget exclaimed, grinning broadly and pointedly ignoring the stares she received from the other people in the restaurant she and Henry were eating in.

Henry chuckled. He had never seen Bridget so happy and animated before, but he supposed it was warranted after years of studying and working hard to earn her medical degree. He remembered being similarly elated when he earned his. “Congratulations,  _ Doctor  _ Cross.”

“Thank you, Doctor Morgan.” Bridget giggled and took a bite of her sandwich, her face still fairly glowing with happiness.

“What do you think you’ll do now?” Henry asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Bridget replied. “But something. That’s the most exciting part! I can do what I want, go where I want, and say what I think without anyone telling me not to.”

“Indeed you can,” Henry agreed. “Although… I do have a proposition for you.”   
  


“What?”

“Would you be interested in a partnership?” Henry could hardly keep the smile off his face at Bridget’s astonished expression. “You need a job, and I have more patients than I can treat. We could help each other.”

Bridget stared at Henry without speaking for a minute, then practically leapt forward and enveloped him in a hug. “Yes!”

Henry was startled by this sudden display of affection, feeling as though Bridget might have switched places with her doppelganger, but he hugged her back. He was glad to include someone who was now one of his closest friends in his practice, and he had a feeling that they would work together well.

~

“It’s nothing serious, just a cough. Nothing some throat lozenges and rest can’t cure.” Bridget smiled at the young boy sitting on the exam table while she addressed his mother. She and Henry had managed to pool their resources to rent a small office space with an adjoining examination room, a sign outside the door declaring  _ Henry Morgan and Bridget Cross, MDs.  _ Henry was currently out, being the one who usually took house calls and visited patients outside of the office. Bridget took care of everyone who came in for an examination.

“Thank you, Doctor Cross.” The boy’s mother smiled at Bridget. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge, for something as small as that. Come back in a week if it’s not better, though,” Bridget said.

“We will. Thank you again.” The woman took her son’s hand and helped him down off of the table. Bridget walked them to the door, waving goodbye one last time before going back into the exam room to clean it up.

Just when she was finishing, she heard the door to the office open and close. Frowning, she went to the door and poked her head into the room.

Henry had returned early from wherever he had been and was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. This ignited Bridget’s concern even more- Henry was seldom still, always running here and there and never seeming to tire of it. Something was wrong.

“Henry?” Bridget asked, stepping towards him. “What’s wrong?”

Henry looked up, blinking blearily as if surprised to see Bridget standing in front of him. “Bridget? What…” He trailed off and took a shaky breath. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Henry.” As she spoke Bridget crossed the room towards him, causing Henry to jump up from his desk… and immediately fall to the floor.

“Henry!” Bridget knelt by him, looking him over for any sign of injury. He was holding his left side awkwardly, and so she carefully lifted his hand. His shirt was soaked through with blood, and his breathing was becoming fast and shallow.

“‘S fine,” Henry slurred, trying to sit up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Bridget muttered. Peeling back his shirt, she could see that the injury was a stab wound caused by a knife and that he had been stabbed more than once. She cursed under her breath. “It’s a miracle you even made it back here. You’ve got some internal injuries, but it’s impossible to tell exactly where and how bad it is.” She looked over at Henry, who had once more lapsed into his barely-conscious state. “Who did this to you?”

“Man. In the street… tried to rob me so I hit him. Then…”

“He pulled a knife,” Bridget finished. She looked over Henry’s injuries again, emotion flickering across her face. “I can’t fix this, Henry. At least not here. You need to go to the hospital.”

Henry coughed. “No point… if you can’t fix it, they won’t either.” He smiled up at her. “You’re smarter than all of them combined.”

Bridget didn’t return Henry’s smile. “This isn’t the time for flattery, Henry. We need to do something, or else you’re going to bleed out right here!”

Henry shook his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine…” He trailed off and appeared to have fallen asleep, but suddenly his eyes snapped open and he looked at Bridget with pure terror. “Leave. You have to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Bridget was incredulous. “There is no way in hell that I’m leaving now! Are you out of your mind?”

“Can’t… can’t be here. Can’t  _ explain. _ ” Henry’s words were becoming edged with pain, and he was struggling to stay awake. “‘M sorry, Bridget.”

“ _ No _ , Henry. I’m not doing this with you!” Bridget was struggling to hold back her panic as the gravity of the situation truly struck home. “I am not letting you die right in front of me.”

“No choice…” Henry’s eyes glazed over as he fought for breath, and then they fluttered closed.

“Henry! Oh, for God’s sake, come on Henry!” Bridget yelled, but it was no use.

Henry Morgan was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter, and that the ending wasn't too similar to some of the episodes of Forever. Please, feel free to give me feedback on what's happened so far and what you think might happen next!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Henry felt his way up the staircase, not daring to light a lamp. The building was silent except for his breathing and light footsteps, everyone else having gone home for the night.

When Henry reached the room he knew was his and Bridget’s office, he let out a sigh of relief. He had been worried that someone would see him on the stairs and question what he was doing there so late or, worse, that he would run into Bridget leaving for the night and have to explain himself.

The thought of Bridget made Henry’s stomach twist with shame. He was sorry to lie to her like this since he knew she had been there when he died and had therefore seen him disappear, but it couldn’t be helped. He remembered the incident with Nora well, and he wasn’t anxious to repeat it.

_ Nevermind that now. Focus on getting what you need and leaving,  _ Henry told himself. Extracting an unfurled paperclip from his pocket Henry knelt in front of the door and inserted it into the lock, all the while cursing whatever universal power or deity had deemed it necessary for him to come back to life naked, thus robbing him of his keys.

Henry had some experience with picking a lock, after decades of getting into various scrapes and tight situations, so he could tell as soon as he started playing with the tumblers inside the lock that the door was already unlocked. Which meant that Bridget was still inside the office. Which meant that she’d likely heard him scrabbling at the lock.

Just as Henry made this discovery the door to the office swung open, bathing him in light. He scrambled to his feet, squinting at the figure in the doorway.

It was Bridget, her expression stony and her eyes filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, at least to Henry, until finally, Bridget moved to the side, allowing him to enter the office.

“I suppose you’re here to collect your things,” Bridget said, closing the door behind Henry.

“Yes,” Henry replied, his voice so soft that it was barely audible. He walked over to his desk and slowly began to go through the drawers, extracting what he wanted to take with him.

“So that’s it?” Bridget asked after a minute of watching him. “You die right in front of me, then your body disappears less than a minute later, and you’re just going to leave?”

“What else would you have me do?” Henry snapped back. “Stay, and risk being locked up for who I am?  _ What _ I am? You’re a smart woman, Bridget. I shouldn’t have to explain to you why it’s dangerous for me to stay.”

“So you don’t trust me.” Bridget’s voice and eyes were filled with hurt.

Henry tried to backpedal. “That’s not… I wasn’t… I do trust you, Bridget. I promise I do.”

“Then why can’t you stay?” Bridget walked over to Henry’s desk and braced her arms against it, fixing him with a penetrating glare. “I won’t tell anyone… whatever it is that you are. Immortal, or something. Who would believe me, anyway?”

Henry shook his head. “I still can’t chance it. You’re better off here without me. Build your career, become famous. I would have to move on eventually anyway, I always do when people start noticing that I don’t age like everyone else.”

“But until that happens, why not stay?” Bridget took Henry’s hand in hers. “I’ve only known you for two years, Henry. Surely you can stay a little longer without raising suspicion.” Her gaze softened. “Please, Henry. You… you’re my best friend.”

Henry looked up at Bridget, surprised. He had known they were close, of course, they spent almost every day together. But he still hadn’t quite realized that Bridget held him in such high esteem. “I…”

“Please, Henry. I don’t want to beg you.”

Henry considered this. He didn’t want to leave, and he and Bridget had worked hard to set up their practice here. It wouldn’t be very fair on her to leave now, and make her run a business all by herself.

Henry nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll stay.”

~

Henry kept his word to Bridget. He stayed for six more months. Then everything changed.

“There’s no need for you to stay, Henry. I can look after the office just fine on my own like I always do.”

“Bridget, you shouldn’t even be working right now. But since you seem so intent on being stubborn, I insist on staying here and keeping an eye on you.”

Bridget sighed in exasperation, but it quickly turned into the hacking cough she’d had for a few days now. She stumbled and placed a hand against the wall to steady herself, breathing deeply when the fit had passed.

Henry walked briskly across the room, placing a hand on Bridget’s forehead and frowning at the heat he found there. “You’re running a fever. You should be at home.”

Bridget waved Henry’s concern away. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

“Bridget.” Henry’s voice was stern, and he felt as though he was a father berating a child. “Regardless of what it is, you shouldn’t be here. Putting aside the fact that you’re in no condition to be working, do you really want to infect our patients?”

Bridget blinked, clearly not having considered this before. “I…”

Henry smirked, knowing he had won. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Bridget hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded. “Just let me get my things.”

Henry stepped to the side to allow Bridget to get to her desk. She slowly made her way across the room and had almost reached her desk when she stopped suddenly.

“Bridget?” Henry couldn’t see her face, but something about her posture made his heart beat faster with worry.

Bridget didn’t respond. She simply fell to the ground, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for ending on a cliffhanger two chapters in a row, but the next (and final) chapter will resolve everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Apologies for the three-week hiatus in between updates, but as per usual my life has gotten very busy. I was determined to finish this before the holiday season, though, and so I present the final chapter of this story.
> 
> A warning, this chapter is quite dark and there is a character death in it as well as major illness, so if any of that bothers you I would recommend skipping this chapter.

Bridget came to briefly a few minutes after she collapsed, and stayed conscious long enough for Henry to get her back to her room at a boarding house near their office. Almost as soon as she saw her bed, however, she lay down on it and fell asleep once more.

Henry removed Bridget’s shoes, coat, and hat, but made no other attempt to undress her. He then pulled the blankets over her, frowning with concern as he felt the heat radiating off of her. This was much worse than a simple cold.

Seeing no other option at the moment other than to try and keep Bridget’s fever down, Henry took a clean cloth from the top drawer of Bridget’s bureau and dipped it in cool water from the washbowl next to her bed. She stirred when he placed it on her forehead, her eyes fluttering open after a minute. “Henry?”

“Hello there.” Henry smiled, happy to see Bridget at least slightly coherent. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Bridget murmured. “And my head and stomach hurt.”

“Sounds like influenza, then,” Henry replied, taking Bridget’s hand in his and squeezing it comfortingly. “I’ll give you some cough syrup, but you should be fine in a week or two. If you rest, that is.”

Bridget smirked at Henry as her eyes began to droop. “I’ll rest if you stop worrying.”

Henry chuckled. “I’ll try my best.”

“Liar.”

~

Henry worked late that night, busy with covering Bridget’s patients in addition to his own. By the time he finished and returned to his own home, he was exhausted, and could barely bring himself to undress before he crawled into bed and fell asleep. He only slept for a few hours, however, before he was woken by the sound of someone pounding on his front door.

“Doctor Morgan! Doctor Morgan!”

Henry practically leapt out of bed and stumbled to the door while tugging on a pair of pants, cursing under his breath when he stubbed his toe. He opened the door to reveal a young woman about Bridget’s age, her eyes wide with anxiety and fear. “Yes? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Doctor Cross, sir. My mother’s her landlady. She went to check on her a little while ago, on account of her being sick, and she’s in a terrible state. She won’t wake up. Will you come, please?”

The young woman hadn’t needed to ask. Henry had scarcely finished listening to what she had to say than he had tugged on a shirt and a pair of shoes, grabbed his medical bag and was running through the streets of New York City towards Bridget’s apartment.

~

Bridget was cold, despite the thick blankets piled on top of her. She shivered and curled up beneath them, trying desperately to get warm.

It hurt to breathe. Come to think of it, it hurt to do anything. Her head ached, her muscles ached, and there was a stabbing pain in her stomach. Something was wrong, but in her fever-addled mind, Bridget couldn’t think what it was.

There were voices all around her. She tried to open her eyes but found she couldn’t, so instead she focused on listening.

“What’s wrong with her, sir?” That sounded like Mrs. O’Malley, her landlady.

“Typhoid fever.” The voice sounded tired, thin, and worn, and it took Bridget a moment to recognize that it was Henry’s.

“Lord help us… what can be done for her?”

“Not much... but I’ll give her quinine, which should help. And laudanum, for the pain.”

“No…” Bridget moaned, fighting to open her eyes.   
  


“Bridget?” Henry’s voice sounded clearer, and she clung to it. “What’s wrong?”

Bridget finally managed to pry her eyes open, and she saw Henry sitting next to her on the edge of her bed. She shook her head, trying to make him understand. “No laudanum.”

“Are you certain? I know it’s an opioid, but… you’re in pain.” Henry’s eyes were full of sorrow as he looked down at her.

Bridget shook her head again. “No. No laudanum.”

Henry finally nodded. “Alright, then. No laudanum. But you at least need to take this.” He held out a glass of water and a small pill.

With Henry supporting her head, Bridget dutifully swallowed the medicine. Afterward, she lay back down on the pillows, exhausted just from doing that much. Her body felt like it was made of lead, and she was too weak to get up even if she had wanted to.

“Rest now, Bridget,” Henry said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

~

Bridget improved slightly over the next two days, even managing to drink some water and broth. It was enough that Henry felt optimistic about her chances of recovery, even though he knew as well as anyone that Typhoid could easily be deadly. Bridget seemed to be doing well, and he had promised her he would try his best not to worry.

He should have known better.

About a week after she had originally collapsed, Bridget took a turn for the worse. Henry came to see her one morning and found that her fever had skyrocketed during the night, and she was delirious. Her cough had gotten worse as well, and there was a distinct sound to it that made him suspect she had developed pneumonia.

“Dammit, Bridget,” he cursed as he hurried over to her bedside. “You were doing so much better.”

Bridget woke at the sound of his voice and smiled up at him dazedly. “Henry. You’re here.”

Henry couldn’t smile back this time. “Of course I’m here.”

Bridget suddenly whimpered and closed her eyes tightly. “Hurts.”

“Where?” Henry asked.

“My chest, my stomach… everywhere.” Bridget tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in her throat and she began to cough as though she were bringing up a lung.

Henry placed his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from falling off the bed. “Just breathe, Bridget. Just breathe.”

“Trying,” Bridget choked out in between coughs.

A knot settled at the bottom of Henry’s stomach. He had done all he could for Bridget, another dose of quinine wouldn’t fix this. He sensed what was coming.

Bridget seemed to sense it as well because she reached for his hand. “Don’t blame yourself, Henry... you tried your best.”

“But it’s my fault.” A lump swelled in Henry’s throat. “If only I’d realized what you had sooner, maybe then…”

“No. Don’t.” Bridget interrupted. “I didn’t think it would end like this… but it was always going to, one day. I’m not like you.”

Henry looked down at his lap. “I wish you were,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Bridget heard him, and she let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t. I’m happy as I am.”

“You’re not even thirty, Bridget. How can you say that?”

“Because… I’m a doctor. My dream. Not many can say that they got to live their dream.” Bridget squeezed Henry’s hand. “I’m happy.”

Henry didn’t know how to respond. Bridget seemed to be wise beyond her years, wiser than even him. “Just… just rest. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bridget nodded. “Maybe…” her voice trailed off as she drifted back to sleep.

Henry was still holding her hand when she died ten hours later.

~

_ Present Day _

“I’ve gotta say, Henry… you’ve got some seriously cool stuff here.”

“Thank you, Detective.” Henry smiled at Jo. “I’ve collected a lot in my lifetime.”

Ever since Jo had found out about Henry’s secret over six months ago, she had expressed an interest in learning more about what exactly he’d seen and done in his more than 200 years on the planet. Today she was doing just that, by going through boxes of Henry’s old things that Abe had dug out of the attic.

“What’s in here?” Jo asked as she moved on to the next box, opening it carefully.

“My late 19th-century things, I believe,” Henry responded, peering at the writing on the side of the box. “Mostly the 1890s.”

“Interesting…” Jo went quiet as she dug through the box, pulling things out and examining them one by one.

While she was doing that, Henry went to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee. By the time he had finished and was exiting the room with his cup, Jo had unpacked everything in that box and was studying an engraved sign.

“Find anything interesting?” Henry asked, sipping his drink.

“Who’s Bridget Cross, MD?” Jo asked, holding up her find.

Henry smiled as he gazed at the sign. It had been Bridget’s idea in the first place, and now he was glad to have it as a reminder.

“An old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typhoid fever was responsible for a large number of deaths throughout the 19th century and reached epidemic proportions several times. A vaccine was developed in 1896 for use by the army, but the most effective treatment for Typhoid was and remains antibiotics, which weren't used to treat it until the 1940s.
> 
> Quinine was a common treatment for malaria and other diseases in the Victorian era, although it isn't used very often today. Laudanum was also extremely popular as a pain reliever, and many people became addicted to it and other opioids.
> 
> Well, there it is. I hope the ending wasn't too terrible, I don't usually write things that take place in present times. Somehow writing in the vernacular of people who lived 100 years ago has always come more easily to me. But I've been trying to write more stories that take place in today's day and age lately, so I hope I partially accomplished that with the short little snippet at the end.
> 
> I'd love to write more stories for this fandom, so if anyone has any suggestions, ideas, or requests I'd be more than happy to hear them. Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on this story, and please tell me what you thought of this chapter as well!

**Author's Note:**

> Bellevue Hospital was first founded in 1736 and has a long and colorful history. In 1866, its morgue expanded to become New York City's first morgue.
> 
> Bridget is my own OC. This story was inspired by my recent re-reading of one of my favorite books, These Shallow Graves by Jennifer Donnelly. Bridget is partially based on a few characters from that book.
> 
> I'd love some feedback on this story so far, I have no idea what I'm doing with this and I've never written anything like it before. Please, feel free to leave comments and kudos!


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